


Heralds Cannot Wear Cloth and String Alone

by Dearing



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Comedy, Gen, Randomness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 14:40:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16199609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dearing/pseuds/Dearing
Summary: Herah Adaar is heading for Val Royeaux. Cassandra just wants her to put on a shirt.





	Heralds Cannot Wear Cloth and String Alone

“I need you to do it.”

        “No, you do not.”

        “You are _going_ to do it.”

        “No, I am not.”

        …

        “It is imperative that you do this. Please. For the good of the Inquisition.”

        “I don’t see how a change of clothes is going to help us seal the Breach.”

        Cassandra tried not to scowl, even as she felt her eye twitch and saw Varric failing miserably to muffle his laughter. She had never thought about having children, her work as Seeker and the Divine’s Right Hand taking up far too much of her time to consider even starting a family, let alone raising one. This, however, this was probably what it was like to have a bratty teenage daughter. One who obviously knew better than her mother in all things.

        Except this bratty teenage daughter was an eight foot tall Qunari woman. And the Herald of Andraste.

        And she was refusing to put on a shirt.

        Well, a set of Defender mail, actually. And a coat for good measure. Strong and sturdy, offering protection for all the most important places.

        Which was more than Cassandra could say for what Herah Adaar was currently wearing.

        The Herald called it Antaam-saar. Cassandra called it cloth and string. Because that was all she was wearing between belt and neck. It was all she ever wore, ever since she’d woken up after her last encounter with the Breach (The coat she had been provided for at the Conclave having apparently, tragically spontaneously combusted). In the snow, no less!

        But now, they were far from Haven. Now, Val Royeaux sat over the horizon from where they’d made camp along the road. Tomorrow, the Herald of Andraste would walk the streets of the city and be seen by her citizens and the Mothers of the Chantry.

        And she wasn’t wearing a shirt. Cassandra perhaps considered herself lucky that it was just the Qunari’s top half that was a problem in the clothing department.

        “You are the Herald of Andraste. I know you don’t believe that,” she interrupted Herah as she opened her mouth, “but that is how people see you. What are people going to think when you walk into town, wearing nothing but cloth and string?”

        “Judging by your reaction. ‘There goes the Herald of Andraste. She is wearing nothing but cloth and string.’”

        The Seeker grit her teeth as the Dwarf laughed openly and Solas hid his grin behind a large looking tome. Adaar for her part merely folded her arms under her generous chest, looking more bored with the conversation that irritated.

        “And you do not see the problem with that? You have been linked with Andraste! That brings with it a certain imagery. An image that isn’t a Qunari in string and cloth, carrying a Dragon’s toenail on her back!”

        “It’s a Dragon’s claw, actually.” Herah looked fondly at massive monstrosity currently strapped to her back. “I took it from the front leg of an Abyssal High Dragon in the Western Approch.” She frowned back at the Seeker. “I’ve told you the story? Of me, the Valo-Kass and the-”

        “And the Abyssal High Dragon that bit off more than it could chew,” Cassandra rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes, you have told us the story.”

        And what a story it had been. The first dozen times she and all of Haven had heard it, at least.

        “Regardless, it isn’t the image we want to give to the people, let alone the Chantry.”

        “I have had no complaints so far.”

        “Because you have kept to the Hinterlands thus far.” Cassandra felt her eye twitch again at the Qunari’s blank look. “The very empty, very war torn Hinterlands? Where only Mages, Templars and refugees have seen you?”

        Herah looked down at her ‘clothes’, plucking at the cloth that bound her breasts. “I wear Antaam-saar around Haven. I have had no complaints. Plenty of compliments, actually. Lots of people like to watch as I walk by. Isn’t that what they’re supposed to do? Stare at the Herald of Andraste?”

        Cassandra felt the metal of the Defender mail bend in her grip. “Clearly the soldiers of the Inquisition are not as pious as they should be.”

        “What about the Chantry sisters?”

        “And the Chantry sisters are _definitely_ not as pious as they’re supposed to be.”

        “I just do not understand why this is a problem.” The Herald turned her bored gaze to the horizon, where the lights of Val Royeaux a dim glow against the dark. “They already know I’m Qunari, and I have been braided a heretic. Why should they expect me not to dress as either?”

        One: Because you are not true Qunari. You are Tal-Vashoth, which means you can dress any way you damn well please.”

        Herah blinked at her. “You don’t think I’m allowed to dress as others of my kind do-”

        “Two!” Cassandra could feel a vein popping above her eye twitch. “It is not just the image of the Herald of Andraste that I’m thinking about! You are an agent of the Inquisition. An agent that is being seen as the face of our organisation! What is it going to say about us if we appear to send our soldiers barely dressed into battle with only bits of Dragon for weapons?”

        “That we can move swiftly and strike hard and true?”

        “And turn our enemies into wine in the process?” Varric grinned from across the fire, even under Cassandra’s glare.

        “That we are sending our agents into the field barely armoured, and barely wearing anything at all! That we are sending them into battle with Dragon clippings! The Inquisition would be seen as barbarians! We would lose what little faith we have gained! Everything we have worked for could come crashing down around us at a moment’s notice!”

        …

        “All because I wouldn’t wear a shirt-?”

        “YES! ALL BECAUSE YOU WOULDN’T WEAR A SHIRT!” She pressed the mail and coat against the Qunari’s chest. “So wear this! Please?”

        Herah frowned at the armour currently smooshed against her breasts, then looked away. “It’s too shiny.”

        “It doesn’t have to be forever!” Oh Maker, and now the great Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast was actually begging. “Just while we’re in Val Royeaux, in polite company! After that, you can wear whatever you want!” Eyes widened as an eyebrow rose. “BUT YOU HAVE TO WEAR SOMETHING!”

        The last thing she needed was word of the Herald of Andraste running around battlefields in nothing but Vitaar and warpaint.

Or nothing at all.

Nothing at all!

NOTHING AT ALL!

All the while _still_ waving that damn Dragon toenail when she wasn’t using it to plant Demon/Mage/Templar trees.

        Herah stared down at her unblinkingly, then at the mail and coat the Seeker had pinned to her chest. Finally, she sighed, unfolding her arms to let the armour fall into them.

        “Very well, I will do as you say.”

        Cassandrea dared to hope as she stumbled back. “And…the maul?”

        “Valo-Kass sent me a Qunari battleaxe with their last message. It’s shiny.” Herah shrugged as she turned away towards the tent. “It will do.”

        Cassandra watched her go, only letting her shoulders slump when the tent flap closed, burying her face in her hands.

        “Finally. Thank the Maker.”

        …

        “So, Seeker…should I do up my coat or…?”

        Cassandra shot the dwarf a glare between her fingers, before rolling her eyes at his shit eating grin.

        “Ugh.”


End file.
